


The Mantra

by hautesauce



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom Dean Winchester, Castiel Feels, Castiel and Dean Winchester Need to Use Their Words, Destiel - Freeform, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Angst, Frottage, M/M, Sam Ships It, Sam Winchester Ships Castiel/Dean Winchester, Some Humor, Top Castiel, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9136267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hautesauce/pseuds/hautesauce
Summary: Castiel says something to Dean that sticks with him. While it buoys Dean, it begins to break Castiel down, little by little, until he can't take it anymore.In sum: An analysis of the nature of prayers, and how to really get them answered.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first attempt at a shorter, erotic fic. Comments and suggestions are welcome!

Dean ducked behind one of the large support beams that held up the roof of the warehouse. It was late, the warehouse was dark and abandoned, and he was brandishing a gun; it was a typical Winchester Friday night. He nodded silently to Castiel who stood about thirty feet away, also hiding behind a support column, angel blade in hand. Dean’s green eyes flashed as he gestured with his head to the far end of the warehouse where five robed cultists all stood around a trussed up, gagged, and extremely pissed looking Sam. They were chanting in Latin as a light started shining up from the floor beneath the younger Winchester, who looked back and forth, angry eyes wide with impatience. This was  _ not _ going according to plan.

“Aw, to Hell with this…” Dean grumbled as he stepped out from behind the column, setting his sights on the closest cultist, but in a instant Castiel appeared in their midst and was upon them, blade flashing with a fury, trenchcoat swingin’ and eyes glowing a fierce azure. Within seconds he’d dropped the lot of them. He glanced over to Dean who still stood by the column looking quite impressed. Dean was just about to congratulate the angel, but then he… vanished.

“...Cas?” he called out uncertainly.

From behind, Dean heard a sudden cry of agony. Startled, he whipped around to find an profoundly angry angel, his breaths coming deep and ragged, eyes all a fury. Crumpled at his feet was the body of another cultist, one they’d missed during their original reconnaissance. 

Dean blinked a few times, jutted his jaw out, and said, “Damn! Thanks, pal!” What he really meant was, “Holy shit, I almost died but didn’t because of you, just like all those other countless times you’ve saved me before. Thank you from the bottom of my heart, or maybe you could just take my heart? Here it is, take it, it’s a gift,” but Dean was patently terrible with words. And emotions. And words conveying emotions. Really, for Dean, touchy feely stuff was relegated mostly to the deepest recesses of his brain, where he could keep it locked away with liquor and denial lest it came tumbling out and hurt someone. Someone like Castiel, whom he’d never wish that upon. Castiel was good; he was basically Grover from Sesame Street, that is if Grover was six feet of tanned, lithe, sex-haired, blue-eyed angelic fury that Dean would never, ever deserve. 

Castiel blinked and his eyes returned to normal. “Dean, I would gladly die for you,” he gravelled, low voice belied by a slight quaver of insecurity.

Dean opened and closed his mouth at Castiel’s passionate admission. There were words there, in his mouth, but Dean couldn’t wrangle them, seeing that he was so unused to acknowledging them at all. Castiel tipped his head and squinted curiously, and then with a flutter he was gone.

“Damn,” Dean muttered. He was used to Castiel stoically saying, well, everything, but something about this was different. It was… raw. It was a big heap of straw piled on the already overloaded camel, and a whole mess of brain farts he thought were tamped deep, deep down started bubbling up to the surface.  _ Gladly? Die? For me? _ Just then, he heard his brother moaning angrily through his gag from behind him.  _ Whoops _ , thought Dean with wry embarrassment. “Sam, I’m comin’!”


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel paced back and forth on the sidewalk outside of a Piggly Wiggly in Athens, Georgia. Why had he come to this place? No idea. He had spoken to Dean, it had gone spectacularly unwell, and he’d just wished to be as far away from him as possible. From Olympia, Washington to Athens, Georgia. It made sense in a Castiel sort of way, he had to admit.

He continued to pace, hands in his coat pockets, oblivious to the few late night shoppers running in for beer and frozen pizzas. Well, oblivious wasn’t the right word. He noticed them, he just didn’t care. He noticed everything, and that was the problem.

 _I would gladly die for you_ , elicited a thunderous nothing from his Dean. _His Dean, who are you kidding, Castiel? After eight years, do you really think anything has changed? You’re just his attack dog. His pet angel. He calls you when he has need of you, and then pats you on the head when he’s done._

 _But,_ he countered to himself, _if you were just a pet,_ _would he ask to spend free time with you? To break bread with you, take you out and be seen with you?_

_The life he’s chosen is not conducive to any of your conceited notions of what constitutes love, Castiel. Loyalty. Devotion. You know nothing of these things; that’s why you broke ranks with Heaven._

_No,_ he parried, _you broke ranks with Heaven to be with Dean. Everything you’ve done has been for Dean. Stop torturing yourself. You really love Dean? Then stop being so selfish. He is nothing but a brother in arms._

_In your arms._

A young man in an ironic cardigan wearing intentionally too-short trousers attempted to slide around the angel to snatch a shopping cart, but Castiel whipped his head around,  daggers glinting in his deep, blue eyes. The man visibly shrunk and backed away, then slid into the Piggly Wiggly with hands up in deference.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean and Sam eventually returned to the bunker, but the whole ride back Sam annoyingly peppered his older brother with questions that tasted more like salt.

“Why did Cas just bail?” Sam inquired while looking out the car window. “I don't get it.”

“What's not to get?” replied his brother, hoping Sam couldn't locate the vein of insecurity underlying his trademark gruff indifference.

“Dude, you were there,” Sam challenged. “You saw what he did. And then when he took out that dude behind you…”

“Get to the point, why don't ya?” Dean snapped.

“Well, he said something to you before he poofed,” he teased. “What was it?”

Dean cleared his throat. “He, uh… he said,  “I would gladly die for you.’”

The whites of Sam's eyes flared momentarily. “And then you said…?”

“Nothing,” Dean admitted.

“Dean,” he demanded, “tell me what you said to him!”

“Dude, I just told you. I said nothing! I stood there with my mouth hanging open like a goldfish, and then he was gone.”

“Oh. Well, that's awkward.”

Sam was beyond annoyed, but didn't dare show it. He knew how Dean felt about Castiel. The way they looked at one another, their physical proximity issues. They chased each other around the playground pulling each other's pigtails; miscommunications like these were frustratingly far too common. But he didn't need to observe their behavior to know how Dean felt; a few years back Dean had straight up told him.

* * *

 

It was after a particularly brutal hunt in which a whole family of hostile ghosts were possessing a clock, but they didn’t know what the clocked looked like. They traced it to an antique shop, but the shop specialized in old clocks; there were hundreds of them filling the place. They couldn’t figure out which clock it was, so they started systematically destroying them all, one by one, but then Dean became impatient and just set fire to the building instead. That started a great argument between the two of them about things like “communication” and “collateral damage” and “trust” and resulted in Dean storming off, leaving Sam alone with the Impala, late at night, in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho. Sam assumed that Dean left in search of a bar, so he just headed back to the motel room. He ate trail mix, watched HBO, and waited up like a worried dad who just didn’t trust his daughter’s prom date. Around two thirty Dean came stumbling in, that is after he struggled with the motel key card for five minutes. Sam didn’t bother getting up; he was just pissed enough to get a bit of enjoyment from his brother’s floundering.

The lock finally clicked, and Dean barged in. He was reeling on his feet, shuffling in whichever direction he happened to be looking at the time. He had a cooler in hand, the one from the backseat of the Impala in which Dean kept his “road beer”. In one shockingly coordinated, practiced movement, he plopped down on the bed, slid a tall boy from the cooler, popped the tab, downed the whole thing, and belched unrepentantly. He crushed the can, let it drop to the ground, pulled out two more cans, and without warning tossed one to Sam. It flew past its mark, landing with a thud on the floor.

“What the hell, Dean?” he exclaimed to his brother. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Sunset Bar,” Dean slurred, cracking open the second beer. “Did you know they have a goat?”

Sam didn’t bother pursuing a goat-tangential line of questioning. “You just ditched me, man? What gives?”

“Why are you always up my ass?” Dean challenged, gesturing with the beer roughly enough that a sizeable volume of it sloshed onto the floor. “You know who’s never up my ass? Cas. Maybe I should just hunt with Cas, and then you can just stay away and do your nerd shit or whatever.”

“Cas?” Sam said with a raised eyebrow.

“Yeah!” Dean exclaimed, trying and failing to stand. Suddenly, his voice took on a lower, more somber tone. “He just gets me, y’know?” He took a swig of beer. “When Cas is around, I feel good. When he’s gone, I feel shitty. But no,” he said, extending the O like a challenge, “even when he is around I feel shitty because I can’t tell him I don’t feel shitty and… fuck. I’m not making any sense, am I?” he asked, looking up at Sam with glazed eyes. “Devon said--”

“Who’s Devon?” Sam interrupted.

“The bartender,” he sloshed condescendingly. “Anyway, as I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, she says I should just tell him how I feel and let the chips fall where they may, but that’s stupid, right?” He took another swig. “He doesn’t want this,” he gestured to himself with his beer hand, soaking his lap and the front of his shirt. He looked down at his pants suspiciously, and then at the beer in his hand. He finished it off with a few more swallows, threw the can on the ground to join the others, and then laid back on the bed.

Dean closed his eyes, started humming, and then slurred the lyrics of a Led Zeppelin song while drumming his fingertips on his stomach:

 _Tangerine, Tangerine, living reflection from a dream._ _  
_ _I was her love, she was my queen, and now a thousand years between…_

And then he was out cold. Sam got up, picked up Dean’s mess, switched off the TV and the lamp, and went to bed. That is to say, he got under the covers and replayed what Dean had told him over and over in his mind. _When Cas is around, I feel good. I should just tell him how I feel._ It was four in the morning before Sam finally drifted off, filled with sadness for his idiot big brother.

Sam let Dean sleep for as long as he could, even called the lobby for a late checkout. He snagged some of the complimentary coffee and a danish from the continental breakfast station, and returned to find Dean shrugging his clothes on, looking like death and smelling like a still.

“How the fuck did I get back here?” he asked Sam in gruff confusion.

“You don’t remember?” Sam queried haltingly.

“Nah, man. All I remember is a goat in a jeep, and being pissed off at you for, you know, being rational.”

“So you don’t remember coming in at all last night?”

“Oh shit, what did I do? Whatever it is, man, look. I’m sorry. Okay? I was an asshole.”

Sam blinked a few times, then replied, “Ok. Don’t worry about it. We’re cool.”


	4. Chapter 4

The brothers didn’t hear from Cas the entire trip home from Olympia. Dean didn’t say anything about it unless Sam remarked on it.

“Any texts from Cas?”

“Nope.”

Every time Sam asked, a little sliver of insecurity burrowed itself deeper and deeper under Dean’s skin. He felt terrible; Cas had bared himself to Dean and for all intents and purposes he had blown the angel off. What Castiel said did in fact deeply move him. Cas made him feel safe, whole, revered in a way he’d never felt before. Cas wasn’t a man, he was an angel. What did he say? _A multidimensional wavelength of celestial intent_? He saved Dean, again and again. He awoke something in Dean, something he’d forget was there, that is until ol’ Blue Eyes Sex Hair popped his perfect face back into his life to remind him of what he could have if he wasn’t such a hot fucking mess all of the time.

When they finally got back to the bunker, Dean headed straight back to his room to disrobe and shower, but when he got there he noticed a box sitting on his nightstand. In the box was a lattice-topped apple pie. Next to it was a note. It read simply:

_Sorry._

_-C_

“What does he have to feel sorry about?” mumbled Dean to himself in frustration.

He stumbled out of his clothes and into a robe, then headed to the bathroom. He ran a scalding hot shower, climbed in, and groaned. Dean savored the little pleasures life afforded him, and the stinging pain of a too-hot shower was one of them. He tried to stay present, in the moment, but his thoughts traveled to dark places as they often did whenever Dean was afforded a minute of solitude. He started replaying his greatest failures: releasing Lucifer, losing Sammy, losing Kevin and Charlie, his time as a Knight of Hell, as the bearer of the Mark of Cain, and he could feel the last shreds of his self esteem peeling off and circling the drain. Suddenly, it was as if someone had switched on all of the lights in his brain, and there in the middle of all of the shit and self doubt he saw him.

 _Cas_.

Cas stood there in his mind, a curious look on his face. He gave a small half-smile, and said, “I would gladly die for you.”

* * *

 

 _Cas_.

Castiel’s head perked up. He’d been sitting at a park bench, somewhere on the New Jersey boardwalk, watching the wind and the waves do their infinitely unique dance with the land. The voice he heard was unmistakable; it was Dean. Dean was praying. He heard him continue.

_I would gladly die for you._

Castiel was confused. Why would Dean pray his own words back to him? He sounded distressed. He followed the prayer and flew, and found himself deposited in the bathroom where Dean was showering. Dean was oblivious to Castiel’s sudden surprise entrance. He was simply humming a song as he washed himself from behind the mildewy shower curtain. Castiel’s lips parted softly. Part of him wanted to fly away again, embarrassed by his unannounced, unceremonious arrival, part of him was frustrated at his own presumptuousness, and part of him wanted to tear down the shower curtain, take Dean in his arms, and make him his right then and there. He shook his head to clear his thought. _Don’t be selfish_ , he reminded himself. He vanished, and the sudden displacement of air caused the shower curtain to billow. Dean stuck his lather-covered head out from behind the curtain, but saw no one. He frowned; he was hoping it might have been Castiel.


	5. Chapter 5

Things eventually went back to normal, whatever that meant. Sam and Dean did a couple relatively local salt-and-burns, and Castiel even came along and helped with one of them. Dean pulled the angel aside at one point to thank him for the pie.

“Cas, you really didn’t have to do that.”

“Do what?” the angel asked gruffly.

“You know, bring me that pie,” Dean said with a goofy, almost bashful smile.

“It was my pleasure, Dean. It was the least I could do.”

“What do you mean?  _ You _ saved  _ me _ , remember?”

“Yes, but then I…” he dropped his eyes to the ground, “made things awkward.” It was then Castiel heard Dean’s prayer again.

_ I would gladly die for you. _

Castiel inhaled sharply through his nose.

Dean chuckled. “Cas, pie is always welcome, regardless of the whys.”

Castiel, became flustered, unable to control the flush rising in his vessel’s cheeks.

Dean narrowed his eyes upon seeing Castiel blush, and then began to feel heat spread across his own face. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _

Castiel’s eyelids fluttered rapidly. There it was again, Dean’s prayer. Then it hit him: Dean wasn’t aware that he was praying. 

“I, I… must go,” Castiel stammered. With a whoosh and a flap he was gone.

“Sonofabitch!” Dean exclaimed, drawing his brother’s attention.

“Did you do it again?” asked Sam sympathetically.

“Yup.”

“Then fix it,” he replied flatly.

Dean bobbed his head with an exaggerated shrug, as if to say,  _ How in the hell does one unoffend a wannabe-boyfriend angel? _

Dean went into a sort of proto-depression for a while after that. Castiel was AWOL, incommunicado. Dean fell into a steady rhythm of work, eat, drink, sleep, that he repeated day after day. He barely spoke to Sam. He spent a lot of time alone in his room, but really that was his favorite time. It was his Castiel time.

He would nurse a few beers, and imagine hunts he’d gone on with Cas, the fun times, the quippy jokes. He remembered when Cas pretended to be an FBI agent and couldn’t figure out how to operate the badge; that always prompted a broad grin. And he’d precede every pleasant memory with what Cas had told him before.  _ I would gladly die for you.  _ It was soothing, and it was the closest thing he’d get to his real life angel.

More days passed, and Dean’s solitude took on a more somber tone. He recounted, over and over, every time Castiel had sacrificed himself for Dean. Pulling him out of Hell, pushing him out of Purgatory, the lies and the deceits and the self-sacrifices, all for Dean. And each one was prefaced with, _ I would gladly die for you.  _ These sessions were not happy in the least. They filled Dean with guilt, with self-loathing. But then again, he’d hear Castiel's voice, and it would buoy him.  _ I would gladly die for you.  _

After a few more days, Dean started to feel better. Despite his loneliness and insecurity, he felt like he was actually making some progress working through his feelings. And he had one person to thank for that.  _ I would gladly die for you. _

Dean spent more time out of his room, talking with Sam. Sam missed Cas too, he could tell. Dean decided to bring it up one night during dinner, since he was now clearly the pillar of mental health between the two of them.

“I wish Cas was around.”

Sam nearly dropped his salad fork. “Uh, yeah. Me too? Maybe you should call him.”

“Seems like he just needs space right now,” Dean mused.

“How will your know unless you ask?”

“Maybe, but I don’t want to seem--”

“Desperate?”

Dean swallowed his anxiety. “Yeah. I’d say that’s accurate.”

“Just tell him, man.”

Dean’s gaze jerked toward his brother. “Tell him what?”

“You know what,” Sam chided flatly.

“No, nope, I can’t do that. Off the table. Unacceptable. I can’t risk losing him altogether!”

_ I would gladly die for you. _

“You won't lose him, you idiot,” Sam said, getting fed up with his brother's drama. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _

“How do you know?” croaked a flustered Dean. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _

“Because of what he told you!” his brother exclaimed, gesturing emphatically with his fork. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _


	6. Chapter 6

Castiel had left, not on some sort of official angel business, but to be alone. To think. To reassess. He holed up in one of the abandoned hunter cabins. He lit a fire, not for warmth; he didn't get cold. It was for aesthetic purposes. There was a mood he wanted to set: roaring fire, flannel blanket, the smell of gunpowder and musk. It was a pastiche of Dean, and he fully intended to wallow in it until he could sort his feelings out. He had brought some lore to read up on, as well as a gift Claire had given him:  _ Coloring for Stress Relief _ . It was filled with illustrations of flowers, butterflies, and bees. She had also gifted him a set of colored pencils, as well as a card that said, “Chill out, Castiel”. 

Once everything was set up to his liking, he curled up on the worn sofa in front of the fire with a copy of  _ Applications of Norse Goblin Magic _ when he heard it. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _

The prayer was accompanied by a flash, a remembrance of the time he held his badge upside down, as well as something Castiel could only describe as a warm, fuzzy feeling. He shook his head, trying to clear the persistent message being broadcast into his brain.  _ Why does he keep repeating my words? What purpose does it serve, if not to summon me? Why can I hear it?  _

It continued for a week; every night Dean would pray without knowing it. It always started with  _ I would gladly die for you, _ but then move to happy memories the two shared. Included were times that Castiel didn't realize were pleasant memories for Dean, like the time when Castiel corrected Sam, telling him that he shared a “more profound bond” with his brother. The accompanying feelings for that particular memory were quite fuzzy indeed. 

_ I would gladly die for you. _

Castiel began to look forward to the evenings, sitting on the sofa under a blanket, coloring in bumblebees, waiting for the prayers to come. On the sixth night away, Castiel heard it begin.

_ I would gladly die for you. _

Castiel was flashed to Dean’s memory of when they first met in the barn all those years ago. Dean walked up and stabbed Castiel in the chest, to no effect. 

Castiel blinked furiously, trying to parse what he had just seen and heard. That was decidedly not warm nor fuzzy. Castiel sensed Dean was feeling terribly sad and guilty. Castiel did not like that prayer, and he hoped for a return to something fuzzier the following evening, but just then there was another flash.

_ I would gladly die for you. _

He saw himself with Dean, right after had absorbed all the souls of Purgatory. “You’re not my family, Dean. I have no family.” 

Castiel shook his head in exasperation. “Gaaah!” he exclaimed, unable to shut the prayer out.  _ Why is he reliving all of these terrible memories?  _ he desperately wondered.  _ Doesn’t he carry enough shame? Don’t we both? _

While Castiel had eagerly anticipated Dean’s prayer sessions before, now he dreaded them. For nearly a week, Dean had dredged up nearly every terrible memory of the two of them, memories of betrayal, violence, wrath, and short-sidedness. And attached to every memory was Dean’s new prayer, his mantra: _ I would gladly die for you.  _ He had run out of pages in the stress coloring book and had resorted to doodling on loose paper. He had managed to draw some pretty impressive renditions of Dean and Castiel’s Top Five Worst Hits, including multiple instances of assault. He had worn the red and black pencils down to nubs. 

He knew it was too late to go to Dean with this information. To admit that he’d been eavesdropping on Dean’s secret thoughts could damage their relationship irrevocably. Castiel would rather have Dean in his life, if only partly, than not at all. If this punishing mantra was to be part of it, then so be it. Imagining his life without Dean was impossible.

Castiel was crestfallen. He had hoped his words would be a comfort to Dean. But now, they seemed to herald only negative thoughts.  _ Maybe they  _ are  _ a comfort to him _ , he realized.  _ Maybe he’s repeating them because they help. They help him with his feelings.  _ He pulled out another sheet of paper with a sad smile, and tried to draw Dean’s face.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean laid in bed, feeling pretty lonely but shockingly well adjusted. He missed Cas, missed him like hell. What he’d said to him in that warehouse, it stuck. It was unconditional. It was unequivocal. It felt like love, or at least a reasonable approximation thereof. Dean wanted very little in life. Simple things, like good food, driving his car, joking with Sammy, that was all Dean Winchester needed. There was one thing that he wanted that he still didn’t have, that he’d wanted for years, but he’d never reached out for it. Sure, he thought about it. Thought about it a lot, actually, especially on lonely nights like this. He never acted on it, though. He knew it would never work, and the thought of losing Castiel was deterrent enough.

Dean would sometimes give himself a hard time, because while his spank bank was filled with a plethora of interesting heterosexual scenarios, there wasn’t a whole lot up there for two dudes. He shoved his pajama pants down below his hips and let himself spring out, already half hard in anticipation. Dean Winchester had done a lot of jerking off in his life, but it was never, ever as good as when he thought about his powerful, furious ray of overly literal sunshine. Most of the time, when Dean thought of Cas, it was barely sexual at all, at least not at first blush. Glances that turned to stares. _I would gladly die for you._ Touches that went on just a little too long. _I would gladly die for you._ Slowly disrobing. _I would gladly die for you._ Low lights. _I would gladly die for you._ The flickering shadows of wings. _I would gladly die for you._

Dean grabbed the Astroglide from his side table a slicked himself up, then slowly went to work. He let his eyes roll back into his head before letting his eyelids flutter closed.

_I would gladly die for you._

He imagined Castiel in the room with him, head tilted, eyeing him curiously as he methodically pumped his hand up and down in a rhythm that harmonized with their heartbeats.

_I would gladly die for you._

He could see Cas lean down over him, eyes caressing the contours of his body with devotion and hunger.

_I would gladly die for you._

He could feel Castiel’s cool breath on his neck, his collarbone, as his stubbly cheek slid across his own.

_I would gladly die for you._

He could smell his skin, and it smelled of thunder and salt and honey.

_I would gladly die for you._

And it tasted like heaven.

_I would gladly die for you._

Dean arched his back and bucked his pelvis as his hand pumped faster; he was so very close. He could feel Castiel’s long, strong hands hovering over him, radiating warmth.

_I would gladly die for you._

With a sudden whoosh and whump, Castiel landed in Dean’s bedroom.

“Wh-What the, the… Cas?” Dean stammered, unable to reconcile the contradictory sensory inputs he was receiving. He scrambled to pull the blankets up over himself and scooted back so he was in a near seated position. Castiel stood at the foot of the bed, dressed in his usual uniform, but his eyes were softly burning their incomparable azure fire, the glow that did more for Dean than ten thousand titty mags ever could. Dean could see his mussed hair, an onyx halo framing his perfect fucking face, his soft full lips parted just slightly enough to be an invitation. He was panting like he’d ran there through a fire and brimstone 5k. Dean was harder than ever, and absolutely petrified.

“I can hear you, Dean,” said Castiel, voice throaty and wanton.

“What?” Dean squeaked. _Dammit, man, get your shit together!_ “Am I, is this a dream?”

“No, this is not a dream,” Castiel rasped. “I can hear you. Your prayers. You keep saying the same thing, every night, over and over. Again and again.” The angel took a deep, shuddering breath in through his nose. “It’s driving me mad, Dean.”

“But, Cas, I hav--”

“Dean,” he interrupted breathily, “I would gladly die for you.” With that, he slid off his trenchcoat and let it crumple to the floor.  

“Cas…?” Dean managed in a hoarse whisper.

The angel’s eye glowed all the fiercer as he loosened his tie, slid it off, balled it up, and tossed it in the corner. “I would gladly die for you.”

“So, these last two weeks, every time I thought about what you said… you heard me? You saw… me?” Dean’s breath had sped back up, and he reached down to adjust himself under the blankets.

Castiel softly nodded as he stepped out of his shoes. He stalked toward Dean’s side of the bed as he shrugged off his suit coat and discarded it. “I would gladly die for you,” he growled, voice heavy with lust.

“But, you, I mean,” Dean stammered. “I didn’t think you would, I mean, with me?” He tried to be self-deprecating, but it came out more like insecure babbling. “I’m worthless. I’m just a human and I can’t possib--”

“I would gladly die for you,” sighed Castiel as he put a single knee up on the bed, dug his fingers into the fabric of his white dress shirt, and ripped it open scattering buttons everywhere. He stripped it off so that only his belt and trousers remained. He threw his other leg over Dean so that he was straddling him. Dean’s emerald eyes were blown huge, his freckles stood out brilliantly against his flushed skin. Dean couldn’t help but to slide his pelvis up to meet Castiel’s and the angel gave a small moan. Dean could feel that Cas we painfully hard himself.

While Dean was more aroused than he'd ever been, he was also filled with a million other competing emotions. “Are you sure this is what you really want?” he stammered hoarsely, tears pushing from behind his eyes. “Cas, I'm sorry I never told you, I didn't want to lose you, I can't--”

Castiel dropped down, clutching the headboard on either side of Dean, torsos mere inches apart. Dean could see that Castiel’s eyes were wet as well, shattering his cerulean blue into a dazzling kaleidoscope. “I would gladly die for you,” he murmured, and Dean could finally hear what he was really saying, what he meant all along. He suddenly rose to his knees, vaporizing the distance between them. He pressed his bare chest into Castiel’s, encircling him in his toned arms that, despite their strength, still shook in Castiel’s awesome presence. The friction was electric, Castiel’s mouth magnetic, and the soft, pink curve of Cas’ lips felt just like Dean had imagined.

Castiel ran his hands all along the lithe contours of Dean’s back, kneading the muscles, trying to pull Dean in closer, deeper. His tongue pressed in impatiently, rapturously praising Dean’s taste. Their mouths moved as one, their breath was one breath, and their fluttering heartbeats synced into one steady rhythm of submission, of adoration.

Dean broke away with a gasp, eyes lit up by Castiel’s own breathtaking stare. He leaned into Castiel’s ear and ground into him, eliciting a soft and piteous whimper. He whispered, voice clouded with lust, “I would gladly die for you.”

He palmed the angel through his trousers and Castiel growled, an animalistic groan that prompted Dean to rip open his belt and fly and strip off his own pajama pants as well. As they kicked their pants to the floor Dean’s breath caught in his throat at the sight of his angel. His taut muscles pulled across his chest with each carnal breath; his powerful thighs quivered with anticipation. His magnificent cock stood out starkly against a dark thatch of pubic hair, glistening with anticipation and slick with precum. There were so many things he wanted to say, so many words he’d kept inside, but none of them would come to the surface. He could only murmur his mantra, words that carried with them all meanings, all intents. “I would gladly die for you.”

Castiel’s wet eyes spilled over at the sight of his Dean, fully exposed under the power of his gaze, opened by the intent of his words. He knew what he wanted, but he needed to know that Dean wanted it too. He pushed Dean roughly to his back, looked around, and saw the bottle of Astroglide on the nightstand. Dean followed his angel’s gaze, reached out and snatched it up. He squirted a generous amount of it into his palm and slicked it between his fingers to warm it. He trembled, mind filled to the brim with desire and anxiety and a singular intent. He slid his hand around Castiel’s cock, causing his eyelids to flutter. He moaned, deep and reverberant, and with shaky hands he slicked up Castiel’s fingers as well.

The angel’s eyes flew open, and he realized suddenly what Dean was asking him to do. Castiel firmly grasped Dean’s hips and yanked him down toward him, propping his legs up with his shoulders. He snatched the lube from Dean and thoroughly slicked up both hands, letting his right firmly grip Dean’s cock as his left slowly snaked down between Dean’s cheeks. Apparently, his angel had learned more from attending Pizza Man Academy than Dean previously thought.

As Castiel’s hand pumped, Dean let out a low moan that stiffened Castiel even deeper, and the ragged gasp Dean emitted when he pressed a slick finger against his taut ring of flesh nearly undid the angel right then and there. The angel whispered, wetly through his tears, “I would gladly die for you.”

Dean wanted this, more than anything, and now that it was happening he was afraid to move, to think, lest he ruin it just like he ruined every other good thing. He hissed as Castiel slowly slid one finger through his taut entry, which prompted Cas to freeze, a look of concern washing over his face. Dean looked at him, wide-eyed and desperate, and he nodded unequivocally, whispering, “I would gladly die for you.”

Castiel nodded in return, expression flickering between lustful adoration and soft relief as he slid the finger back in and resumed working Dean’s cock with long, methodical strokes. Castiel slid in another finger and Dean gasped again. He could have never asked for this on his own, but then he realized. He _had_ asked. He had begged. He had _prayed_.

Dean felt a third finger slide in, and Castiel repositioned his hand, making a coaxing motion with his middle finger.

“CAS!” Dean cried out with a gasp as the angel pumped against his prostate, sending his hips flying upward unconsciously. Castiel paused again to examine Dean’s face, and all Dean could do was furiously nod and whimper, “I would gladly die for you.”

Castiel started sliding his fingers in and out in time with the pumping of his hand, each time grazing Dean’s spot, causing him to call out Castiel’s name again and again. Castiel’s mental capacities dwindled. There was Dean, and only Dean, and he was finally his. Suddenly, Dean grabbed Castiel’s hand roughly. His breath was ragged and he whimpered as Castiel’s fingers slid out. He then reslicked the angel’s cock and nodded. Castiel bit the corner of his lip, then leaned over Dean to kiss him, hard and passionately on the lips. Their tastes mingled, beer and sunshine, salt and honey, as Castiel repositioned his hips to line up with Dean’s desperate hole. He pressed in gently with the head of his cock, and Dean moaned into his mouth. Castiel began biting and kissing down Dean’s jaw, along the delicate skin of his neck and collarbone. As he whispered, “I would gladly die for you,” Dean himself pushed forward onto Castiel’s throbbing dick, and they both moaned.

Castiel didn’t know something so biological could be so exquisite. He had wanted Dean, wanted him so badly for so long, but never knew the fruits of such a union could be so breathtakingly sweet. He moved his hips slowly as first, savoring Dean’s quivering tightness. All Dean could do was chant his angel’s name, each time sounding more wanton, more desirous. Castiel dug his fingertips into the flesh of Dean’s hips, repositioning him so that with every thrust he was hitting the spot that had elicited such an emphatic response before. Dean began babbling, unintelligible gibberish falling from his lips in between moans of “Cas!”

Every snap of Castiel’s hips was a beat, a meter of poetry, a prayer. “I. Would. Gladly. Die. For. You.”

Dean grabbed handfuls of blanket as he writhed below Castiel, mind and body no longer under his control. He started laughing and crying, sobbing moans and chortling gasps. The look of Dean so undone stoked the white hot coals of his own desire. He could feel himself approaching a precipice, goaded on by the taut, slick heat of Dean, his Dean. Dean starting snapping his hips into Castiel’s, taking him in deeper, rougher. They took each other’s hands, intertwining their fingers, and Castiel managed to stammer, “I would gladly die for you,” before they both jumped off the edge together.

Dean violently ejaculated all over his belly and chest as Castiel cried out, spilling himself deep inside of Dean. They convulsed, gripping onto one another for dear life as endorphins coursed through their veins and they fell, fell, fell. Castiel landed on Dean, his lover slick with sweat and cum and tears, and they both let out a soft whimper as Castiel slid out of him. Castiel rolled off of Dean and threw his arm and leg over him in a lustful daze.

“We should have done that years ago,” mumbled Castiel through clouds of euphoria.

Dean nodded. “I'm an idiot," he panted.

“I would gladly die for you,” Castiel murmured tranquilly .

“I know,” Dean smiled.


End file.
